you are my obsession
by snitchesgetstitchesbitches
Summary: A collection of one shots where Ardyn and Noctis share one interest in common: Prompto Argentum.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: *Throws herself to the closest trashbin* Sooooooooooooo, it turns out that I like the idea of Ardyn having a thing for Prompto more than I should and took it too far. Oops, I did it again! But seriously, I have no idea what this is, it was supposed to be a serious fic then it turned cracky, then got serious again... Just read it if you like this kind of stuff lmao.**

 **Here is what inspired me to write this: post/154799799983/ardyn-creeping-out-prompto**

* * *

 _ **to possess**_

You watch the hyperactive blond gesticulate wildly with his hands.

The merry band is sitting on a nearby table, ordering food after a long day of hunting and playing heroes of the people, doing missions and whatnot out of the kindness of their hearts. They look more like a boy band than a royal ensemble, so engrossed in their own shenanigans to notice you watching them, hidden among the crowd.

You should be watching the prince, that little usurper just like his father and the ones before him, even sharing the same wretched looks, living the life that rightfully belonged to you and only you.

Yet, your gaze keeps straying from him until settling finally on his loudest companion.

You just can't compel yourself to look away.

The blond, Prompto Argentum , has both knees up on the bench serving as seat, his back a perfect arch as he bends over the table to swap at the prince across from him for something he said. Your eyes wander to his skin tight pants and admire appreciatively the obscene way they hug those shapely legs and most importantly, his round perky behind. The curve of his ass in the air, moving from one side to the other as he tries to keep his balance is nothing short of captivating despite the less than ideal circumstances.

He has taken off his jacket at some point, and you're able to see the patch of naked skin over his hips from where his shirt has risen due to his current position. He extends one gloved hand to reach for one of the popsicles they'd bought earlier from one of the many street vendors, the muscles of his wiry freckled arms shifting with the movement. Ignis Scientia mutters a line about how he'll get fat; the blond merely shrugs and unwraps his deserved sweet.

You prepare for impact as Prompto's rosy lips pucker, open wide, separate from each other, allowing entrance to the frozen snack and closing around it provocatively. Blue eyes close in utter bliss. Prompto shoves it further inside his mouth, cheeks hollowing out while he sucks on the popsicle in such a dedicated manner you begin to feel a familiar throbbing below the belt. Occasionally, there is a glimpse of pink tongue lapping up the sides, licking the drops, not wanting to waste one bit before the sweet disappears once more inside that warm cave.

You have always known those sinful lips were meant for worshipping, is what you think while you imagine a different thing altogether trespassing the boy's virgin mouth.

Prompto emits a delicious moan and pulls out the popsicle entirely, a string of saliva connecting that flexible organ that you already know works quite well. Another satisfied little whimper and the miraculous tongue gets right on the job again, makes its path up and down, up and down, then twists around the popsicle. It's worth noting that though the boy has tried his best to not let a drop escape from his treacherous mouth, his fingers get coated eventually with melted ice cream, fact he realizes after a while and, with an impressive amount of naivety and a certain type of innocence, starts licking those as well. Pops those slim fingers inside his mouth and _suuucks_.

You swallow nothing and try to very discreetly adjust your pants. He ought to have more self awareness; Gods forbid some random pervert is getting off on this. Just in case, you turn around to check if there is anyone else creeping up on the blond from the shadows. Satisfied at the lack of an affirmative answer, you return to staring creepily from the shadows.

Its singlehandedly the most erotic scene you have ever had the pleasure of witnessing and you have been around longer than any of the occupants of that table combined with the entire population of Lestallum.

The blond is so focused on the task of…. Eating- if the show he's performing that puts to shame any well versed escort can be called that-he doesn't catch Ignis Scientia and Gladiolus Amicitia rolling their eyes, giving pointed looks towards the prince, who's face is shifting colors so fast you almost expect him to pass out from the continued flow of blood rushing to his head at full speed. It's almost funny how hard he's trying to save face by pretending to be unbothered by the act yet failing completely. Even his ears are starting to turn thirty shades of red. You would have laughed, except you feel -asides from a tightening in your pants- a prickle of annoyance thinking that it's Noctis, not you, the one who gets to see the blonds' face in the throes of passion (nevermind that said passion is because of a bloody popsicle), his sculpted cheekbones blooming with an alluring blush and those pretty, pretty freckles on his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose you wish to trace with both fingers and tongue standing out against his blushed pale flesh.

At one point, when Prompto is taking turns licking his gloved palm, fingers and after what's left of the popsicle, the prince's eyes seem about to pop out of his head thanks to the intent staring he's doing, bedroom eyes full on display. His shield and advisor keep pinching his arms and swatting him on the head to no avail. The young man has apparently lost all inhibitions and any semblance of subtlety he wished to maintain and is currently eyeballing shamelessly the gorgeous blond. Not that you can blame him, even as you want to make an untimely appearance and give him a good tap on the head with the good help of a sharp sword.

Then, the unexpected happens.

The beautiful boy does this extremely delightful thing with his tongue and suddenly, the prince makes a choked sound at the same time a drop of red descends from his nose. That drop soon turns into a thin trail, and grows, and grows until it becomes a full blown river of blood.

Ignis freezes, Gladiolus's mouth is hanging open and Prompto's Argentum unfinished popsicle falls to the ground with a 'splash'.

You stare flabbergasted, your own arousal fades into the background for a second because really?!

A fucking nosebleed?!

"Fuck!" the undeserving prince curses and flails frantically for napkins or anything useful to wipe his nose with.

But he's not a prince anymore, isn't he?

What a pathetic joke of a King, you scoff, seeing the ever professional Ignis immediately spring into action. He orders Noctis to put his head back to stop the bleeding while Gladiolus shoves the closest napkins in his face, half smothering Noctis in the process. Prompto merely observes, wide eyed and looking back and forth between the advisor and shield.

The situation is ridiculous enough to produce a snort out of you. If this is what the Astrals wanted as their Chosen King then you are greatly disappointed, especially when after a few minutes of flaunting and causing a ruckus the situation is solved, ending up with Noctis having two tampons-that a passing couple kindly gave them and you have to give it up to them since they managed to not burst into laughter at the idiocy of it all-filling up his nostrils, arms crossed in front of his chest like a five year old and a scowl darkening his features.

"What the actual fuck, man?" Gladio has been repeating the same phrase over and over "What the actual fuck?"

"Would you cut it out already!" exclaims Noctis fed up with the same line of questioning. It would have been more effective had his voice not sounded similar to a prepubescent girl with sinusitis.

He pushes up one of the tampons that theatened to fall off "I don't know what happened. It must be an effect of the awakening of The Archean, just like the headaches"

What could have been an acceptable explanation ruined entirely by the small detail that Gladio, Ignis, yourself and almost every passerby had seen the future king drooling like a mindless dogover Prompto Argentum with the notable exception of the cause himself, who had been too preoccupied servicing the presently deceased popsicle.

Ignis for his part seems nonplussed by his friend's comment and sighs "Yes, of course. The Archean. How could we forget. Are you sure you are in no need of rest?" he asks this in a dry tone.

The heir to the throne of Lucis gives Ignis a look just as dry and rejects the sarcastic suggestion.

Opposite him, the blond reverts to a more normal way of sitting, his cute rump no longer on display to your own dismay, and pouts slightly "Maybe Specs is right, Noct. What if your condition worsens?" He speaks with his stupidly attractive voice, the perfect combination of boyish charm and happy-go-lucky tones to match evenly with his personality.

"I just think you should consider it. I know we're hard pressed for time but we can afford at least one more day, right?"

He looks at the other members of their group for approval and he reminds you so much of a puppy you have the strong urge to pat him on his blond head. And everywhere else on his body too, now that you mention it.

The number one person in your 'most hated' list goes to answer Prompto's question but as he does, one of the tampons slips from his left nostril and it's blood bath time of the non violence required kind once again. This time though, Prompto is not able to contain himselfand explodes in admittedly-and here you go using the one word you never thought to use in two thousand years, where on Eos is your pride-, disturbingly ** _cute_** actual giggles, throws his head back showing the expanse of his long slender neck, laughs raucously and you are surprised for the second time to find yourself thinking that it's nice, a very nice sound.

His laugh, you mean.

Normally anything related to joy or happiness makes you wanna pull a couple of teeth but this laugh, this sound, you don't mind at all. And it is not even remotely sexual or related to sex which is what shocks you the most. It's one thing to lust after someone, that while it isn't exactly a common occurrence is absolutely more understandable to you than actively rejoicing in someone else's corny laughter (ewwww, what the actual fuck indeed Ardyn, get a grip).

Prompto wipes a tear from the corner of his eye and grabs a napkin to fold it in a similar shape to that of the tampon. Noctis looks unruffled, annoyed and fond, the three of those emotions caused by the laughing blond.

So you weren't the only one affected...

"Good to know you're having a blast at my expense. And here I was thinking you were worried about me"

"You wouldn't say that if you had seen the look on your face, it was priceless! Now stop being such a drama queen and come here"

Probably not thinking much of what he is going to do, Prompto leans over the table again-and yes, your eyes travel down south so it takes you some time to actually see that Prompto has grabbed the prince by the chin and is cleaning the blood off his face using his free hand. This move takes Noctis by surprise and his grabby fingers clutch onto Prompto's wrist. That _one_ wrist. _The_ wrist. _Your wrist._

The gunner stops, both hands touching Noctis's rotten skin, the new king's own hand holding onto him. They stare at each other straight in the eyes; something shifts in the air around them. Blue meets blue and skin meets skin where they connect. The blushes return to their cheeks with a vicious vengeance but none of them dares to move, they seem frozen inside their own little private world while the real world watches them with disgust and hatred because such a horrid affair should not take place under any circumstance. You think, the little king would do well to remember he is engaged and due to marry soon with the fair Oracle, Lady Lunafeya Nox Fleuret and has nothing to do dwelling on cheesy romances with commoners, albeit how beautiful those commoners in question might be.

You wish someone would remind him of his royal duties and direct your gaze to Gladio and Ignis, expecting them to know better and put an end to this madness but soon enough, you realize you gave them more credit than what they actually deserved as the two of them just roll their eyes and look at the two younger boys in amusement. Like proud parents would.

The impending doom of humanity in favor of the daemons starts getting more and more appealing each second that passes where Noctis doesn't take his hands off what does not belong to him.

And that is the main issue to begin with, isn't it? Has been for the longest time, but that is about to change.

After too long minutes of torture, Prompto finally smiles, a shy upturn of the lips.

"Hey" It's awkward and not smooth at all but so like him.

"Hello" Noctis responds, a dorky smile of his own directed at Prompto and you can see it then, as the prince's hand slips from the wrist to cover the back of the other man's hand. The gunner's grin gets impossibly bigger. Prettier, even. And at last, he introduces the goddamn folded napkin on Noctis's nose; all the while both are smiling from ear to ear.

There's no denying what is happening, what you've seen unfold between them. You can't unsee the Prince's smitten expression or the way Prompto returns the attention as if the sun shone out of Noctis's ass.

Amazing really, to even think that you had ever conceived the thought of stealing the Oracle for yourself back when you thought she was the owner of his heart. When you thought that there was no better reward than beautiful, loyal and smart Lady Lunafreya to reign by your side as she was meant to be. Your heart used to throb in ecstasy thinking what the prince's face would be like having lost everything he ever owned and seeing the love of his life hanging off your arm instead of his.

What had never been a part of the equation, however, was the appearance of one Prompto Argentum and that was a major mistake on your part, you have no one else to blame but yourself for missing the one miscalculation that changed every rule in your game with Noctis. You had never expected, had not foreseen how addicting the blond could be. You had never expected either that it was him and not the Oracle, as it was supposed to be, the one Noctis held closest to his heart.

Suddenly, nothing was ever so simple.

Suddenly, there were more things to gamble in your little game but you had been waiting for this time to come for centuries. You would not lose, could not afford to lose.

Back at the table, the boys are picking up their things as they get ready to move to the hotel to rest. In the end the prince yielded to Prompto's urging, probably to avoid suspicion from him. Ignis and Gladiolus walk a few steps behind them, trying to not be conspicuous. The gunner pinches Noctis's cheek, telling him to stop pouting. The black haired one scoffs and tugs on one lock of silky gold hair. Prompto giggles at this and you no longer think it's cute, an unfamiliar emotion coils tight around something in your chest and all you want to do is destroy him. Erase that happy look on his face whenever the prince gives him some attention and paint it in blue and purple. At the least, in that way he would be only marked by you, it would be only by your hand that…

They walk together, shoulders to shoulders and fingers brushing occasionally with every step. Your eyes zero in on the small details.

It's one thing to lust after someone. It's one thing to enjoy their aesthetics. But it's another thing entirely to feel possessive of someone.

You want what Noctis has, what Noctis thinks he's entitled to have because in fact, it all belongs to you. From the very beginning the palace, the furniture, Insomnia, this city, this country… It's all yours. Noctis is nothing more but a spoiled brat who was given the world on a silver platter, taking everything he had for granted, stomping around like a toddler with not even the slightest idea on how a true king should behave. A lie parading around in royal clothes and while he has been given the world, you still win.

He is bound to unite with the most beautiful woman in Eos, who's also the beloved Oracle of the people. He is heir to the throne of Lucis, meant to become King of all Kings. He has been chosen by the Astrals. He is admired by everyone. He owns, for now, all of your possessions except for one.

Just one is enough to be his downfall, because he doesn't know, has no clue about the most important thing. He doesn't know that as long as there is a mark, this black blemish _of no consequence at all_ hidden by leather bracelets, burned permanently on soft, delectable flesh…

Well, as long as that exists….

Prompto is **_yours._**

* * *

Noctis feels rightfully wary watching the man stroll around the camp with unnerving ease, as if he belongs there. As if it is his playground. And Noctis wonders for the umpteenth time why they even agreed to this insane deal, why they are letting this Ardyn guy lead them around like sheep and why on earth they're camping with him.

He chances a glance in Ignis direction, who's posted against the side of the trailer, his face glum. Gladio is tense in his chair as well, nerves on alert in case the man decides to do something funny. The only one apparently unbothered by the actual situation is Prompto, focused as he is on a new game he downloaded recently. His brows are furrowed in concentration, completely tuning out Ardyn's incessant blabbering.

Noctis huffs under his breath, envies Prompto's ability to not give a fuck about the creepy man yapping on and on with every step he takes.

He is currently waxing poetic on the meaning of owning something, what it truly means for something to belong to a person, as he passes by Noctis's spot. The young man has to force himself not to turn around to follow his movements- he doesn't think it ideal to show weakness in front of a possible threat.

Ardyn edges closer to where Prompto is sitting, and what he does next has Noctis almost falling from his chair and invoking all the swords he has accumulated on the journey. Before anyone can do a thing about it, the eccentric man leans dangerously towards the blond, the vibes around him giving off a predatory feel. Prompto seems able to sense the disturbance in the air and automatically recoils, unknowingly cowers but finds himself trapped in the plastic seat, allowing Ardyn to get uncomfortably close to him-so close his lips almost touch Promto's cheek and his hand reaches out as if to grab the blond by the chin. The man's eyes are dark with an emotion Noctis is too afraid to give a name to, doesn't dare to do it out of fear of that becoming true.

"Sometimes we want to posses what does not belong to us" he says, voice hoarse and tone disturbing in many levels; his gaze directed at somewhere on Promto's face and Noctis can tell it's not precisely his eyes he's looking at.

Fast as it began, Ardyn backs off, returning to his previous standing position, muttering a cheerful "Just kidding!"

He smiles and it's disgusting.

His hands are in the air in a sign of peace but the damage is done. Prompto's skin has turned to an ashen green and if his expression is anything to go by, he's downright terrified. Gladio is burning holes through the man's chest and his knuckles are white where his hands are holding onto the armrests while Ignis is paralyzed, eyes narrowed, right hand near the place where he hides his daggers. And Noctis…

Noctis feels homicidal.

"You boys are too uptight. C'mon, relax a little!"

No one says anything. No one moves.

Ardyn's manic grin does not match with the challenging look he throws Noctis's way. His pupils jump minutely to the perturbed blond then back to him again and his face gains a meaner quality to it, more than it usually is.

It's very ominous.

Despite the anger and blood running hot in his veins, Noctis feels a chill make its snaky way down his spine.

Later, much later, when midnight is creeping up on them, the prince takes his best friend aside and tells him quietly- _commands him_ -to share a bed with him. Let Ignis and Gladio have the double bed, he says. Prompto nods as if already understanding what Noctis is not brave enough to say out loud, and the young king prays with everything he has for that instant of rivalry that transpired between him and Ardyn to be a lie.


	2. Chapter 2

**to claim**

There he stands again, the Chancellor of Niflheim. Ardyn Izunia, with his revolting smile and as equally revolting clothes. Everything about him is revolting, actually.

The anger simmering inside Noctis grows increasingly as he remembers the many reasons why he detests him so much. As he remembers Gladio and Ignis are passed out on the floor because of him. As he remembers the bastard holds the one thing capable of shattering him in pieces.

In his mind, he's back on the roof of the train, looking down while the illusion breaks and it's not Ardyn he sees fall, it's not his voice gasping in surprise. Instead, he gets a glimpse of golden locks, wide blue eyes and lips he has spent hours memorizing, opening in the shape of an 'o'. It's his voice, that voice Noctis loves listening to day and night, even as the blond uses it for singing terrible songs, that sounds heartbreakingly betrayed-it's his face confusedly staring back at him. All of them, every single one of those things are what really haunt him.

Ardyn Izunia has already taken his childhood friend, Luna, away from him.

He won't let him take Prompto too. He won't let him have him.

He can't allow it.

It would kill him.

Ardyn smirks.

"I feel I've earned the right to call you Noct" The foul man says, his hand resting on top of one the trains seats.

Noctis doesn't give two flying fucks about what he thinks he has earned. He has no right to anything. Including his best friend.

Unconsciously he flinches, takes a step back. Ardyn moves in a lazy manner towards him. "For a moment I felt death's chill wind, such is the might of the gods." He acts arrogant, so sure of himself, as if Shiva (Gentiana?) hadn't pulverized him with a touch of her finger "But then, I remembered I'm immortal. Such is my blessing and curse"

 _Immortal? It has to be a lie_ , Noctis thinks as the man turns his head away from him, and then says "Your attack hurt me, nevertheless. My feelings at least" When his disgusting stare returns to Noctis, the young man can tell everything about him, his posture, his expression (hateful, deeming him inferior, not worthy of attention), the vibes he's giving off are entirely at odds with what he has just said.

He's mocking him. All that talk about immortality and feelings, it's a show to make him understand the 'magnitude' of his power, how superior he is compared to Noctis.

He wants to say so many things to him, but he keeps seeing Prompto falling from the train before his frozen gaze and misses his chance. "And after all the memories we've shared." Ardyn's tone has surpassed the limit of confidence, literally oozing smugness.

"Remember this?"

At the same time he says this, he raises his hand and in it-

Prompto's gun!

Noctis lets out an exalted breath.

The silver weapon that does not belong to him, never will, points to Noctis's forehead. It looks incredibly wrong in Ardyn's nauseating grasp. It should be in another's gloved hand, in the hold of nimble, pale fingers. Noctis has the strong urge to throw himself at the chancellor and rip those fingers off for touching what should not be touched.

"Ahh," the gun rises a bit "I should have asked if you remember **him**. Truly a blast from the past, nay?"

The last part, he says particularly husky, pressing Prompto's gun to his left shoulder. Noctis can't help but reach for the gun, pry it off his dirty hands, but Ardyn is faster and pulls it away from him, predicting Noctis's reaction.

"Ah, ah, ah! **_You mustn't take what's not yours_** "

That's it. It's a clear provocation, a warning and a statement. Noctis instantly understands what this ridiculous performance is all about.

He snaps "Prompto is not a thing to be owned, he's not a possession. He's not yours, you sick fuck!"

The blood rushes right to his face from the ire he feels begin to cloud his vision in a brilliant red.

Ardyn's countenance hasn't changed yet Noctis detects a change in the air, a more vicious atmosphere surrounding the man at his outburst.

"Well, well," he passes the gun from one hand to the other "And here I was thinking the cat had caught your tongue. Turns out I only had to mention the light of your life to make you sing" He pauses, a sneer contorting his features "Or was it my defiance of your ownership that set you off?"

"Fuck you!" Noctis is livid, fingers clawing at the palm of his hands "I never said that!"

"The words might not have come out of your lips, however that doesn't hold true for your thoughts, now does it?"

He can't help it. He tries to punch Ardyn but his fist meets the empty air, his thoughts entirely filled with beating the living daylights out of him. A part of his brain yells at him to regain focus; the man's intent is obviously to rile him up.

Ardyn materializes behind him, tuts at him while wagging his index finger "That is not a healthy relationship, young man! Prompto Argentum is his own person, free to make his own choices…. He certainly needed a break from your toxic possessiveness."

Then, the fucker has the nerve to drag the tips of his fingers slowly, up and down the muzzle of the gun as if recreating the touch of skin on skin. Noctis's head aches to even think what is going through that rotten mind of his, and tries to ignore it in favor of keeping his sanity intact.

He takes a deep breath, holds it in and tries to oxygenate his neurons in order to think. Once he has calmed down enough to talk without yelling profanities he speaks, cold as ice "Whatever my relationship with him might be, it does not concern you in the slightest. **Prompto** , does not concern you. This is between you and me, keep him out of this"

Suddenly, the man hisses and this time Noctis is able to see through his façade and finds himself staring directly into a deep abyss of darkness and decay. "You know nothing. You stand there, thinking the world would stop moving just because you wished it so, and plea for his release, all the same ignoring that whatever happens to him is not your choice to make. What concerns me or not is not for you to decide, selfish brat. You ignore the many ways in which he…"

Ardyn Izunia abruptly stops, realizing his mistake.

He let Noctis get under his skin.

He purses his lips, his eyes narrow and Noctis feels justified in his small act of rebellion but knows the war is not over yet.

The chancellor moves towards him again. This time, Noctis does not recoil.

"You…" he starts "…Do you know what he hides under those many bracelets? Have you ever taken a peek, merely out of curiosity? Taken a hold of that dainty wrist and touched the smooth skin under?"

Okay… Now Noctis is not only confused but also highly perturbed. He needs to find Prompto as soon as possible.

Ardyn's glazed eyes look intensely at said boy's weapon "Of course, you have no idea of what I'm talking about. See, in the end, making you push him off that train was the proper thing to do. You ought to be thankful. **_He_** ought to be…" A creepy smile forms on his face "Then again, he seemed very thankful when I, out of the goodness of my heart, saved him. Gave it his best to show me his rightful appreciation as well."

Noctis freezes, feels the beginnings of a cold sweat. He stops breathing, stops thinking, stops everything.

What the hell is this son of a bitch implying?!

This fucking liar!

"How very rude, to call me a liar when I have been nothing but truthful."

Noctis said that out loud. He couldn't care less.

"Truthful?-Bullshit! Prompto would never-"

"In the face of imminent danger, you'd be surprised at the things people are willing to do to secure their survival. Our dear gunman is no exception"

At his last thread of rationality, Noctis summons one of the sacred swords and charges at Ardyn, who is practically begging for a healthy stab in the neck. Again, he slashes at nothing. His anger increases, feels his veins thrumming and the rest of his very being thirsting for blood. He turns around, growling and lips pulled back in a nasty sneer.

Ardyn chuckles "Useless, Noct. You already know that. It reminds me of how helpless Prompto looked, sprawled on the snow"

"Stop" Noctis growls "Stop saying his name. Don't say it"

The taller man ignores him and continues "Poor thing was about to be devoured by wild daemons. If I hadn't rescued him, only the Gods know what would have happened to him…"

He raises both hands in the air, palms up, in a dramatic display.

"Valiantly, I prevented the damsel in distress' ultimate demise. Nevertheless a valiant knight's services are not without reward. No matter the selflessness of the act, everything in this world comes at a price. Prompto Argentum knew that, and understood that if he dared reject my offer, not seeing the face of his beloved imbecile of a King would be the least of his problems" He finishes spewing venom, arms wide open and a manic grin on his revolting face.

Noctis's stomach plummets to the floor. No, his mind screams. No, it can't be true. It just can't be.

He pictures Prompto's freckled face smiling back at him as he runs away after a prank he pulled. His frantic movements as he looks from one place to another in search of the perfect angle to take a photo. His blushing cheeks and shy smile as he asks Noctis if he could take a selfie with him for the first time. His palm warm against his. His fingers hot on Prompto's wrist, gazes locked with the other boy as the blond tried to push a rolled napkin up his nose. His insecure voice when he told him he didn't feel worthy of being with them and then how it changed to grateful and something more after Noctis assured him he didn't waste his time on any old looser.

His best friend.

His Prompto.

His heart's desire...

"No…" he repeats in a whimper, unable to stop himself. His grip on the sword is shaky at best, his fingers threaten to loosen at any moment.

How could he…?

"Where is he?" is the only thing he can mutter brokenly "What did you do to him?"

Until the end, he refuses to acknowledge it. Not until he hears it loud and clear.

"Where is he?" Ardyn drones on, smug tone, smug face, smug all in all "Safe and sound with me, in Gralea, at the core of the Empire. One shot away in distance. As for what I did to him… Do you even have to ask? You must know, do you not? Or do you need it spelled out for you? Did you father taught you nothing?" Ardyn sighs as if it's a big pain to explain it when in fact he is probably drawing a sick pleasure from the whole situation "I, Ardyn Izunia, took good care of the blond beauty. Unlike you, I am not afraid of taking what I want through whatever means I deem necessary."

He gives Noctis a mock pitying look.

"Especially when it turns out that what I wanted, what I desired, was mine all along."

 _My, my. Look at what the current has brought me._

 _Get away from me, psycho!_

 _And what a big mouth it has. I can think of a dozen most productive uses for that mouth of yours than simply cursing._

 _Where is Noctis?! Where am I? What have you done to me?_

 _Why am I even surprised? You wake up alone after many hours of unconsciousness in an unknown location and your first priority is to inquire about that wretched child. How unsavory._

 _….!_

 _And where do you think you are going, pray tell? There are only miles and miles of snow covered land to be found._

 _…_

 _Now you ignore me. What happened to that charming chatterbox that wouldn't stop talking his dear friends' ears off that day before facing The Archaean?_

 _Don't talk to me as if we're friends, man. You almost got us killed, you crazy lunatic!_

 _So stingy! Need I remind you of the one who actually pushed you off that train? I'll give you a clue: he is supposed to be from royalty and his last name is Lucis Caelum._

 _Fuck off! If you're not going to either finish me off or help me, then Get. The. Fuck. Away!_

 _How cute. Help you? Why would I do that? What possibly gave you that impression?_

 _…._

 _However, now that you have mentioned it… I guess I could lend you a helping hand, if you offered me something in exchange of course. Something worth my time._

 _Not interested. Piss off!_

 _It has been a while since the last time I was so rudely flipped off. It's refreshing… Anyhow, are you sure you do not want my help? The sun will be down soon enough._

 _…._

 _How about a game, then? Does that sound more appealing to you?_

 _…What kind of game?_

 _Ahhh, caught your elusive attention at last._

 _Fucking-_

 _The game is quite simple. Your goal is to last at least three hours after the lights have gone out without my aid. You manage to do that, and you are free to go back to your friends and beloved Prince._

 _What's the catch?_

 _There is none, dear Prompto! Do you doubt my word as a gentleman?_

 _You're no gentleman. And what happens if I… if I lose._

 _If you lose…then, well. That is where it gets very interesting for me. You call for me, even once, and I'll come to save you precious thing. But the cost of my help must be paid._

 _You-!... What do you want?_

 _Could it be that I have been subtle about my intentions towards you? Have I not been obvious enough?_

 _You…want….me…_

 _I knew you were smart._

 _I'm not some cheap whore! What the hell is your damage?_

 _I assure you, absolutely none. You must know you're quite a sight. Beautiful as sin, everywhere the eye is able to reach._

 _This is madness! I'm not doing this!_

 _Oh, so little faith you possess in your abilities? I swear on my life that if you win, I'll keep true to what I promised you._

 _But if I lose I must do the same._

 _Absolutely. You'll have to honor your part too._

 _I'll be forced to give you my body!_

 _Not only your body. I want everything that belongs to you. Everything that makes you who you are, I crave it._

 _You're sick!_

 _The clock is ticking. It's now or never my boy, what will you choose?_

 _That's the catch. I don't really have a choice in any of this._

 _No. No, you don't. Well, what's it going to be?_

 _….You have a deal._

 _Excellent._


	3. Chapter 3

He looks beautiful in black, the dark color contrasting perfectly with the ivory color of his skin. He is gorgeous in the morning, half dressed and one socked, hair of gold ruffled and pointing in several different directions. He is a wet dream in shorts. He is a sin worrying his plump lower lip as he plays that stupid game on his phone. He is the sudden warmth in your navel, standing in boxer briefs and nothing else.

And he is painfully delicious when he looks at the royal brat with those eyes brimming with innocent affection that should be directd to you.

* * *

The first time you saw him, really saw him, it had been an accident.

Your mission: to observe the pathetic excuse of a King.

The outcome: not what you expected.

Noctis had been entirely predictable. A useless heir, blessed with everything he could possibly desire and he still acted like he hadn't grown a day over twelve. Pouted, scowled, demanded things as if he had the right, brooded all the time.

The destiny of Insomnia rested on the shoulders of an immature teenager with too much time on his hands. Time that he wasted on stupid things like going to arcade centers, hanging with some random blond kid-whom admittedly possessed a nice smile-and when he was in the citadel did nothing of importance, talked about useless topics with Ignis Scientia and Gladiolus Amicitia, who were by a mile far more interesting than the young Prince of Lucis could ever hope to be, but still not engaging enough.

This was supposed to be your opposition? It was ridiculous to even think that Noctis- out of every one of the Kings that had ever ruled Lucis-seeing him as he was right now, would be the one to fulfill the prophecy. Even more laughable, he was the chosen one foretold for centuries, the favorite of The Astrals. The reason why you were rejected by the Gods. For this snot covered brat who couldn't do anything on his own.

It was pitiful. It made you mad as hell. The shame knew no boundaries as the days went by and Noctis proved himself to be barely above average, just the typical fifteen year old living his unremarkable life with the nice little touch of being the son of the King of Lucis. Otherwise, there was not much to see.

From the palace to school, to the arcade, to the cinema, back to the palace. Start a new day and repeat the process all over.

Disregarding the thrill of spying the enemy under their unsuspecting noses, blissfully ignorant of the fact that you managed to break through such sophisticated security system, you began to get bored. It was no fun for you if the victory was this easy. You wanted the challenge you had been waiting for since your fall from grace with The Astrals; what you got instead was a group of kids messing around and an incredibly unaware king.

Well, that was to be expected, considering how King Regis's sole occupation consisted of pampering his son.

Your only consolation amongst the mass of boring, uninteresting individuals was that dimpled smile Noctis's friend would let out at the strangest of times. More often than not, that was what you would end up focusing your attention on, rather than Noctis's annoying mannerisms. The blond had no filter, was loud and at times obnoxious, telling bad jokes, and acting way too hyper than what one would consider normal. Had it been anybody else, you would have probably not given them a second look. That kind of behavior, that stereotypical' joker wannabe' attitude he had turned on at all times, repulsed you immensely.

Yet, the more you watched Noctis and therefore observed the blond, the more you came to get used to it.

You got used to his spontaneous laughter, his uncivilized way of speaking, the map of dots on his rosy cheeks. His erratic train of thoughts, as he flew from a topic of conversation to a whole different one and then back to the first. His delighted expression when he found something worthy of taking a picture, his cheap camera held in his hands, was not so bad to see. And his name, coming out of your mouth (Prompto Argentum. Lips press together to form the 'p' and 'r' and 'm'. Lips open in wonder of what the 'o' sounds like. Tongue flicks the behind of the frontal teeth. P-R-O-M-P-T-O), felt like a drop of honey.

It started like that, innocent enough.

The laughing blond in his school uniform and your strange fixation with the teenager. It was only natural when you began tailing him too. The cheap reasoning was that you needed to know everything that could give you an advantage point over Noctis, not that you needed any more but still. You had to.

The first step was following the blond to his working place, fact you heard from one of his many pointless conversations with the prince.

You merely watched from afar. Saw him get inside, talk with his coworkers, smile. Always smile.

The prince wasn't even with him but there you were, watching from the outside. That light you had not noticed at first now seemed impossible to ignore. He was a flame, burning bright and strong amidst a sea of darkness. No matter the work he had to do, how arduous, how tiring, he'd do it with a grin from ear to ear-greet the customers as if he would a dear old friend and engage them in casual, mindless conversation that somehow felt endearing to you.

Two days passed like that. In the morning you stalked Noctis, in the afternoon you traced Prompto's steps to his workplace.

On the third day of simply watching, curiosity got the best of you.

Prompto's job of the week was as a barista in a small coffee shop near the street where he lived. It was too easy, really, to disguise yourself as no one of importance and slip inside the shop, your eyes never straying from your objective who was wiping the counter with a very used rag. You walked towards him and felt a foreign feeling inside you, standing so close to the one you had only seen from afar. Prompto was within touching distance, if you reached out a hand maybe-

The blond looked up. A pair of entrancing azure eyes met your frozen stare. From up close, the numerous freckles adorning that happy face were more noticeable. His cheekbones were colored an interesting shade of pink and full lips parted in a toothed smile.

"Hello and welcome to insert coffee shop name you couldn't care less about. My name is Prompto Argentum" he said in that mellow voice of his "What would you like to order in this fine day?"

He is too cheesy, your mind screamed internally. Too young, too boyish, too immature, too common, too simpleminded. What was it about him that had you at odds with yourself? You wondered this while battling against the urge to tell him you'd like to order him in this indeed fine day.

"One Altissian Roast, please" was what you actually said, staring at the freckled hands on the counter, one still holding the used rag.

He had beautiful fingers, at least. He had the fingers of an artist, meant to create what regular fingers could not. Maybe, just maybe the photos you had assumed were at most half assed weren't so bad after all if they had been taken with these hands.

Unaware of your uncanny attention, Prompto instead of preparing your order like you expected he would do, raised both blond eyebrows in surprise. His jaw fell open comically "You-do you actually like that thing? Man, kudos to you. It's way too strong for me, tried it once and almost threw up"

"Not vanilla enough for you, you mean?" the line came smoothly out of your lips, entirely spontaneous and natural, just like the smirk that accompanied it.

Prompto's blood rushed to his face and a blush spread across his cheeks, ears and neck, disappearing under the collar of his unflattering shirt.

"I..er…No, that's not it!" he stuttered, shook his hands in the air and it was a special sort of charming that only befitted him "You know what? Nevermind. Altissian Roast it is"

The boy, not quite a man yet, began working hurriedly. His back was turned on you and your eyes burned holes on the slender road of his neck. On the red tips of his ears. On the skinny but slightly muscled arms. And on-

Prompto turned to face you again, the blush fixed on his features. A fine layer of sweat made his skin look particularly bright and it made you curious as to why it was there. When you noticed his normally straightforward gaze avoiding yours, was that a thought occurred to you. Apparently, the golden boy was not as confident as he'd like everyone to believe. Perhaps, he was shy. Perhaps, he couldn't deal well with strangers. Perhaps, there were actual skeletons hidden inside his closet.

How interesting.

The boy, in a very sheepish manner, offered you the hot drink and laughed awkwardly "Here's your coffee" It was almost a murmur, If the shop hadn't been empty you wouldn't have heard him at all.

Your hand met his halfway to grab the cup.

And when your fingers touched his a spark ran over your body from the area of contact, traveled up your arm, to your brain where the stimulus transformed in sharp heat. In a feeling you weren't able to name. You felt a tremor, an ache, a realization you didn't know you had been looking for; the three manifested themselves strongly and in wonder, hazel eyes met the source of this sudden turmoil.

The boy's hand frozen in the air because your own had taken a hold of it, sinking your fingers in the soft flesh. His distraught expression: beautiful chiseled face still adorned in residues of baby fat staring back at you in confusion and a touch of unknown fear. The hot coffee that had spilled on your clothes and the floor, dripping and dripping-you paid it no mind; it didn't bother you a bit. Not like this insignificant creature bothered you so.

"E-excuse me, sir?" said the pink, chapped lips in the timid voice of a student. A strong unexplored desire rose at that, and you had the urge to tear in the mellow mouth, paint it in the color of passion and life.

He's a child, your mind yelled. He's fifteen years old.

Prompto Argentum was an innocent fifteen year old boy who still went to school and had probably never touched himself.

And you wanted to push, and claw, and throw him over that counter and-

Shatter that pureness.

You understood then, as a forgotten warmth simmered in your belly, as you let go of that delicious hand, as you left the young boy staring confusedly after your retreating figure. You understood why you wanted him, why you pursued him, why you observed him as if everything he did was essential. He was pure, he was light. You were darkness incarnate in bone and mortal flesh.

And it's a well known fact that the darkness will always strive to swallow the light in its hungry jaws.

* * *

After that time, it continued to worsen. You never dared to get too close again in fear of temptation proving to be too mighty a foe, even for yourself.

Days, weeks went by and you had no excuse to justify why you kept traveling to Insomnia just to catch a peek of a flushed Prompto working at different part time jobs every time. You learned later it was because he couldn't afford both a private school and his photography lessons.

You yearned from afar, yearned for what you had never dared to yearn for in two thousand years of suffering and plotting.

While you did that, you also began to discover new things. Like how Prompto would shine his brightest whenever he was by the inept Noctis's side. The curious fond look he would direct in the prince's direction and how he flushed prettily at the other boy's veiled compliments. It was ridiculous. It was preposterous. It was insanely maddening, having to see the prince flirting shamelessly with the blond yet doing nothing about it. What you had thought at first to be normal interactions between friends turned out to be so much more.

Noctis and Prompto, sitting together at the entrance of the arcade center, their hands brushing occasionally. Their handsy gestures that left them both blushing and laughing. Hugs and moments shared that made you turn green in envy.

You stood, looking in from the outside, nails digging sharply on the inside of your palms, and mentally ushered Noctis to grow faster.

So you could, at last, claim what was yours.

* * *

You followed him home. Camouflaged in shadows, you followed the clueless boy, slipped right behind him through the front door. Saw him do his usual routine: leave his backpack on the floor by the entrance with his shoes, go to the kitchen to have a glass of water, sit on the couch-remote in hand-to watch TV.

His every move and every gesture, you knew by heart now.

And then, door wide open, you saw him undress in his room. He disposed of his jacket first, then the tie and shirt. Belt unfastened, the pants fell soundly to the floor, pooling at his socked feet and your breath got stuck in your chest.

Prompto Argentum was breathtaking.

He was all long limbs and slim torso, a hint of a v-line and the silhouette of a six-pack in the process of forming, pink nipples standing erect in the cool air of the apartment and fine blond hair on his legs and the happy trail leading to the treasure hidden under those briefs that clung marvelously to the shape of his butt.

You eyes drank his figure thirstily, desiring for more than just watching. Wanting it all. The desire of the conqueror faced at the prospect of conquering promised land. Of owning every dip and valley of that still growing body, of pressing your fingers to the jut of his hipbones until purple finger marks were imprinted in sign of ownership.

The voice in your head screaming about Prompto being too young had died a long time ago. Your wants overcame your judgment.

It was not enough.

You wanted more.

As if to complete the perfect picture he was unknowingly composing, the boy in a sudden move pulled the wristband he always wore. What you saw then and there was effortlessly the most beatiful sight you could have ever dreamed of beause on that pale wrist where blue and green veins could be seen, was also the proof that meeting Prompto had not been a coincidence.

This was fated. The reunion of the masterpiece and his creator at last, it was fated from a long time ago. You knew as the blond teenager scratched absentmindedly, using too much strenght, the black barcode marring the white canvas that was his skin.

Perfect, beautiful. Your own creation, made only for your eyes to see and for you only to have.

Hours later, in the dead of night, you walked to his bedside and grabbed gently that wrist which belonged to you, pressed a twisted promise of longing to it and felt his heartbeat thrumming under your mouth.

"Soon" you whispered.

* * *

The next day, Prompto woke up with a strange sense of foreboding plaguing his subconscious and while he took a bath before heading to school, he scrubbed harshly in revulsion at his tainted wrist.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning: This chapter is +18 and there will be non/con. If you're triggered by this, please skip this one.**

* * *

 **to surrender**

Prompto feels tears of frustration well up in his eyes. Surrounded, he stands with his back to a cliff, an abyss deeper than the darkness conquering all of Eos awaits him should he fall, and in front of him, a crowd of goblins, imps, Iron and Fire Giants threaten to put an end to his miserable life.

"Fucking-" he curses looking frantically for a way out, a blind spot where he cannot be attacked but his eyes only find a landscape of white lying before him, like Ardyn said, kilometers of snow and no sign of civilization. He's utterly alone. He's cold, his upper teeth clash constantly with the lower ones making an unbearable sound that reminds him too much of silhouettes of dust that should stay dead in his past, he shakes everywhere despite his attempts at preserving body heat and he can see, if he squints his eyes enough in the darkness, the tips of his fingers are now blue while the rest of his hand has turned the color of the dead, pale and grey.

He does not wish to know what the other parts of him must look like. He does not wish to die.

There are bruises scattered on his limbs, he can feel them pulsing on his biceps, on his knees from every time he has fallen down, his hand asides from being on the verge of becoming ice cubes are scratched, bloodied where the fingerless gloves have torn apart.

It's useless. Every failed try at escaping has left him more winded up than determined or assured. The real sad thing is that he believed for a while he could pull this off, beat the bad guy at his own game and return to his friends, to Noctis. But now he knows more than ever, this was a trap from the get go. There is just one way out. The price, though, comes at a cost Prompto is not sure he can afford, can part ways with yet.

It is scary, to even entertain the thought.

The inhuman growls of the giants reach his ears, the cold winter's cruel wind hits him from different directions and he feels himself falter, yield slowly to the pitiful circumstances, bringing back to his mind those moments years ago that made him feel hopeless and weak for entirely other reasons. Or maybe they are the same, he has no clue. Prompto closes his eyes and envisions behind his eyelids the eternal daydream, the everlasting flame: regal blue eyes, the small and fond upturn of lips, a heavy arm thrown around his shoulders, ebony spikes, the dumbfounded expression as Prompto fell from a moving train.

Alone, in the dark, he makes a choice.

He sees warm nights spent around a campfire, Gladio laid back with that forsaken green book he never puts down, Iggy trying to make the most out of the ingredients of the day and him and Noctis acting like five year olds, playing fools and nonethewisers, making eyes at each other while Ignis chides them for not helping with dinner and Gladio huffs and calls them both 'puny idiots'.

And he has to do what he must.

Ardyn Izunia, something vicious and dark about him. His alarming words, theatrical gestures and veiled threats and the unnerving way he says Prompto's name, slighty deeper, slightly out of breath, husky, deep, tasting the two syllables with an unhealthy dose of amusement and entitlement, as if he had waited a long time to say it and after he had done it, he did not want to let it go. Months after their first meeting, the blond continued to have nightmares about him and the nature of his fixation that, at present, he understood all too well.

And he has to do what he must.

His heart a living tumor, he lets his legs fold beneath him, meet the merciless snow. As a samurai demon walks towards him, he whispers "Help me... Please"

At first, nothing happens. Only the drag of feet, paws, claws and swords across the freezing ground. He tries again "I beg you..I-I surrender. I'll do anything you want just-"

The monsters made of shadows stop in their tracks, as if in a trance, as f they are puppets on strings. The master has pulled their strings and they all stop moving. Red eyes peer at Prompto but do not do much else. He swallows and on his knees, he waits for the inevitable. Then, the daemons start moving again, they separate from each other and part the way to make a path leading right to the blond who shakes, trembles on the spot. It's like watching a knife slicing butter, creating a road for itself.

The wielder of the knife appears, walks among dark creatures without a care in the world, his gait composed, practiced, controlled and his smile has Prompto rethinking who is the greatest danger. He knows the answer but his only guarantee of survival is that this man, due to a reason he prefers not to dwell on because he might end up regretting this choice, won't kill him. He does not want Prompto dead. Yet.

His robes flutter in the wind, his hat remains on top of his head though, unaffected by the weather. Even the elements seem to be in his favor.

The blond holds his ground, looks up with hardened eyes, his hands hanging dead at his sides. He hopes he can keep the tough façade, even with all the shaking and trembling he's doing.

His heartbeat fastens the more those expensive boots get closer.

The Chancellor of Niflheim stops right in front of him, his hand repeats the motion he did what feels like a lifetime ago in a fire lit camp. This time around, Prompto is unable to back away, **can't** move back, so he stays still and lets that disgusting hand take him roughly by the jaw. The man's fingers dig in his skin; it takes all Prompto has in him to not fight this, he thinks of everything he has to lose if he refuses and gathers his resolve.

Shine of teeth underneath the moonlight "Took you long enough. I was beginning to wonder whether you had died in my absence. That would have been a shame, don't you think?"

Prompto's on hair trigger temper, he is too tired to deal with this guy's bullshit. He would probably punch himself in the future but he can't think out of his fear and exaltation. The cornered prey lashing out at the predator.

"Not that you would have let it happen without having your fun first, mother-"

Ardyn's thumb slides to the side of Prompto's mouth, where it traces the outline of his lower lip in what he may think is a provocative gesture but leaves Prompto reeling and sinking his nails on his abused palms instead.

"Have I ever told you how much I **adore** your mouth?" he says and his thumb presses down, forcing the lip under it to show the row of teeth lying behind. "But really, using it to insult your one and only savior… That is a _no, no,_ little boy. You should be grateful to me."

The gun man can't help it. He twists his face away and allows his weight to rest on his back- gravity attracts his butt to the snow and when he falls, he slides out of reach pulling his body with his forearms and legs. He is disgusted, he is mad, he is upset, he is offended by the dirty implications of every word he says.

"It's your fault I'm even stuck here!" he yells, throws glares at the chancellor as Ardyn closes the new formed gap between them.

" **No**. It's _your_ own fault for thinking too much of your abilities, you overestimated yourself. Turns out you're not so special after all without your friends to help you. Prompto Argentum is nothing more than a pawn in-"

And he's even madder that he finds himself affected by this nonsense, touched somewhere deep where he is still a fragile, fat boy.

The blond feels his blood boil and he is the one interrupting this round "Fuck you! You're a delusional, psychopathic monster if you think that anyone would have made it out here with no weapons. This bullshit dare was rigged from the beginning. What, can't get what you want without pulling stunts like these? Without throwing a horde of daemons at me?" Prompto seethes, growls.

Ardyn just raises a brow, tilts his head to the side and puts a finger to his chin "Well, well. I must admit you surprise me more and more. I'm amazed by your creative manner of speech, by the words that roll off with such ease out of those gorgeous lips. Please, do tell; are those the same lips you use to service that pathetic excuse of a King?"

Something shifts inside him; a reckless motive begs to be released.

He grabs a handful of snow and throws it to Ardyn's face. He doesn't even check to see if he hit him, he gets up on his frozen limbs and makes a run for it. Before he can get too far, however, a vice like grip takes hold of the nape of his neck and suddenly, he's being pulled backwards. Prompto struggles for a while, kicks and claws, and utters profanities but eventually he gets worn out, he tires due to sleep deprivation, exhaustion, his wounds and the extreme temperature. The spark within him is slowly fading.

The hand on his neck tightens, applies further pressure causing Prompto to wince in pain. He whimpers, and as he does, he feels a cool breath on his ear entirely at odds with the warm touch on his neck, the tingle of hair other than his own and the uncomfortable sensation that follows someone's inappropriate closeness to him.

"Had you been anybody else, Prompto, that cute gesture of yours just now would have gained you a well deserved slap on the cheek" His voice might have come out in the normal intonation he always uses yet Prompto can feel there is something off in it. Maybe he is pissed.

Prompto tries to move his neck in order to keep his skin and the other man's skin from touching distance but the hand on him won't budge.

"Seems to me you have forgotten what your place is in this situation. How about I give you a reminder, huh, dearest?"

Oh no.

Prompto doesn't know why but he swears he can feel the night turn darker.

Ardyn forces Prompto forwards, pushes him while still holding him by the neck like an unruly child in the direction of the crowd of daemons. Prompto's legs tumble on the way, move clumsily and inefficiently, imitating a baby deer taking its first steps. In his direct line of sight is the vast world of nightmares of the underworld, their mouths all salivating at the prospect of a quick meal. Prompto can only think about how very fucked he is going to be in the near future.

Nonetheless, he presses his lips together to stop any sound that could betray his panic-he doesn't want to give Ardyn the satisfaction of hearing him beg once more.

That is the precise instant when a snaky, terrible monster emerges from the ground. Prompto's eyes widen as snow rains around him, over him, to let the ugly creature crawl to the surface. But Prompto doesn't truly feel terror until the moonlight hits the daemon in a certain way, permitting Prompto to see the distinguishable features of a horrid humanoid female face twisted in a hateful grimace. Sharp razor teeth glint at him-his mind is traveling though his memories to a tunnel of freezing caves.

It's a Naga.

And it's right in front of him, one meter away.

The hand holding him is gone. Prompto begins crying out a mantra of 'No please, nooo', stepping back from the creature who pierces him with blank eyes. Irrational fear blinds him, forces him to call out for the man he would have never in a million years thought to call for help. He's not even cold anymore, adrenaline pumping hard inside his veins, his thoughts spinning wildly in his head. He hasn't realized either in his desperation he is almost back to the edge of the cliff.

"No, not this!. **Anything but this!** Ardyn I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to. I take it all back!"

His back collides with something hard. An arm wraps around his waist, fingers settle on the jut of his naked hipbone and the other hand covers his Adam's apple, splays out on the front of his neck.

Ardyn chuckles darkly, mean and creepy behind him "Was it enough time of self reflection already? Have you finally learned from your mistakes?"

The Naga grumbles in an inhuman voice, inquires about its missing baby.

Prompto knows that this will be the most painful thing he'll ever say "Yes. You were right. And I'm sorry. I'll… I'll do what you want" he gets out through gritted teeth.

The chancellor sighs "Why do I have the feeling you're not being truthful?" his fingers rub circles on the blond's hip "But nevermind, we've wasted too much time on idle things"

"What do you think, Prompto, of moving locations to someplace _warmer_?"

His eyes fall shut before he has the chance to answer.

* * *

He's only sure of two things: he's inside an unknown room and his clothes are still on him.

"Enjoyed your nap? Did you dream of me?"

And he is not alone.

He disentangles himself from the satin sheets in a hurry. The gunner's eyes follow the origin of the comment, which is standing at the side of the bed and staring at Prompto with poorly concealed hunger in his orbs. He is tempted to tell him he only sees the man in his nightmares but bites his tongue, holds it in.

Feeling a chill descend down his spine, he looks down and sighs in relief at seeing his clothes are still on him and not anywhere else. Although the sensation of nakedness perseveres due to the invasive stare he's being subjected to, he is calmer that at least he possesses the barrier of layers.

Ardyn notices his actions "I wouldn't have done anything while you were unconscious. I am a gentleman above everything else"

Yeah, right. Then why was he smiling so pervasively while he said so? No, Prompto does not trust this demon in wolf's clothing. It would have been less fun, is what the man must be thinking. Instead of acknowledging that he was indeed worried about what he could have done, he looks around this new environment he's now stuck in.

His face meets him everywhere he looks (yellow hair, flushed cheeks, freckled cheeks and shoulders, confused blue eyes), it takes him a whole minute to also see the bed he's in and Ardyn at his side, too close for comfort. The walls are mirrors, he realizes. The bastard put him in a room full of mirrors. His gaze turns to the ceiling and he gets an upside down view of the room.

"Where are we?" he asks because he has to.

Ardyn ignores him completely.

"You are a virgin, are you not?"

What.

"What?"

Prompto stares flabbergasted. He flinches and recoils as if he was touched by a burning candle.

Then, Ardyn hauls him up by the hands and crushes their bodies together, chest to chest, noses almost clashing with each other. Prompto feels the entirety of Ardyn's anatomy pressing against him in all the wrong places, feels him entwine his fingers with his own and feels the man's free hand run down the expanse of his side to rest on his hip.

His naked toes on the cold ceramic floor make way for the discovery that Ardyn removed his shoes at some point.

Spite and disgust drive his whole being in that moment "No, I'm not." He whispers in a monotone, his mouth within the other man's breathing space "What you said back there? It was true. I do love to suck _my King's_ dick using these lips. I love sucking him off and feeling the weight of his massive-"

His ears are ringing. Blinding heat scorches his right cheek, tears pool at the corners of his eyes. His mouth is open, stopped in mid-action of retelling one of his fantasies to the revolting chancellor. His brain is still stuck on the visual of his best friend shoving his dick down his throat.

He doesn't understand, at first, what happened. But when he sees through his blurry vision the unhinged expression on Ardyn's visage-the black sclera and black veins that quickly recede- he understands he has been slapped. He tastes salt and metal on his tongue, which he dazedly moves to run over his lower lip where the taste is stronger. It's blood. Ardyn used enough strength to break his lip.

Finally, a tear slides down-falls to the ground like an omen of what is to come.

Ardyn shakes his head, inhales deeply to calm down and cups Prompto's cheeks with his palms. The smaller man does not move, does not do anything at all except feel the tears cascade down his face (the slap took the fight out of him, whatever was left). It's all useless, it's all futile, no matter what he does Ardyn will have what he wants. He is tired of fighting for nothing. More importantly, if he just surrenders, maybe-

Maybe he will get to see his friends and Noctis one last time.

"I'm sorry" Ardyn apologizes while Prompto looks down at the floor. "I..I'm very sorry. This is not how I would normally behave" His breath is a rotten thing, a foul beast that reveals what hides behind that human exterior. "But I detest filthy lies, especially from you. I will not accept it"

Why even ask if he knew it was a lie? Self gratification?

His eyes are burning holes through Prompto's skin but he refuses to return the look. His face is drawn closer, the man leans a bit to lick the trail of red on Prompto's chin, follows it to his lips leaving a wet path in his wake. And Ardyn's mouth at last captures Prompto's own in a feverish kiss, pins him down with the everlasting force of his want. Prompto closes his eyes and thinks of another's pair of lips meeting his.

It's nothing like any of the kisses he has ever had. It's nothing like his first kiss had been-a girl that was casually black haired, had an aloof personality, a stunning pair of blue eyes and kissed him close mouthed, soft, a quick peck and that was the end of it. It's nothing like the time he made out with a random guy who, for an inebriated Prompto, resembled Noctis too closely-they were both sober but it still had been terrible and after the party they couldn't look at each other without getting ashamed. It's nothing like that miraculous time he kissed Noctis by accident and although the angle had been off, it was for a moment, the pinnacle of his teenage years.

This isn't like that at all. This is Ardyn abusing his lips, dominating him just like he exerts domain over everything he does and everything he owns. He sucks violently on Prompto's split lip, forces the blood to flow to the surface and consumes it as if it's the secret to eternal life. He feels fingers tangle on his yellow locks, feels them pull to push their heads to the point of merging. With teeth and tongue, Ardyn pries Prompto's cavity open, pushes his way in and the blond gets the impression that he has wanted to do this for a long time. Has the impression that Ardyn has desired to violate his face like he's doing since forever, if the passion in which he joins their tongues savagely is anything to go by.

A moan escapes him accidentally, as the chancellor separates their tongues only to use his to mimic the act of penetration with it. He shoves his tongue in an out of Prompto's lips, stops for a second to roam around the territory behind his teeth and rub his palate at a painful rhythm; it's unfair how good it feels. The blond is conflicted, a side of him is disgusted (this is not who he should be kissing, he doesn't want this) but his weaker side wishes to surrender to the easy pleasure.

A knee gets in between Prompto's legs. There is something hard pressing against his thigh creating torturous friction against his crotch. He blocks his brain to not think about what it is, blocks his brain from processing the stirring he feels in his belly.

He's being mouth fucked and his hand latches onto the older man's shoulder to keep himself from crumbling to the floor, his legs are made of butter, they're beginning to melt. This is the only thing he does in reciprocation; he is paralyzed due to fear of urging the man on or giving him the wrong idea that he somehow wants this. Ardyn's hands are fire traveling his body, one stops at his throat, the other molds to the curve of his ass-they two hands squeeze.

He chokes from the pressure being applied to his neck and shivers at the unwelcome touch below the lower back. The experience is similar to a bath of scalding water, his skin prickles wanting to be peeled so he can erase the traces Ardyn's fingers have left. Prompto wants to cry, he wants to shout, he wants to curse The Astrals for allowing this vile event to occur. He freezes, lies pliant for Ardyn to use at his leisure and forces himself to block the images of Noctis from his mind because the more he thinks about him, the filthier, and uglier he feels.

After a lifetime of suffering, the chancellor releases Prompto's mouth. He lets go, takes a step back and when his head separates from Prompto's, a string of saliva follows him, connecting him and the traumatized boy. The man smiles, nasty and cruel, a satisfied flame dancing in his eyes. His joy is extremely obvious and it sickens the young man how the other is so thrilled by this.

"Chocolate and vanilla" he licks his lips, reciting what Prompto ate earlier today (is it still today?) on the train. Death and decay, those are the flavors he perceived in the man's tongue. "Delicious"

All the while, Prompto has not stopped crying.

Hazel eyes explore every inch of his body, phantom touches on his thighs, arms, elbows, hands, the hollow in the middle of his collarbones, his mouth again, his nose and his eyes. "Come here" he says, no room for denial or hesitation. An order disguised as a suggestion.

Prompto wills his unresponsive legs to move towards him.

Dead blue eyes stare impassively at Ardyn's gloved palms as they grab him by the buckle and start unfastening his belt. Quick fingers pull it out of the belt loops, the white looped snake falls to the ground, the metal rings loudly in the silent atmosphere. His pants are next; Ardyn's knuckles brush the patch of skin under his belly button at the same time he unzips him and slides the skin tight pants down his long legs, lets it pool at his feet. Automatically, Prompto steps out of them and stands now exposed in the room decorated with his reflection, with his pale and freckled slim legs and his black plain boxer briefs, his dick half hard beneath the thin material due to previous stimulation.

When those foreign fingers tease him, play around the hem of his boxers, and then draw the outline of his length through his underwear, he blacks out for what must have been minutes. During a brief period of time, he's gone. He regains his bearings a while later only to find himself butt naked in front of a still very much dressed Ardyn that is giving him a glazed look. Prompto feels a ton of bricks clogging his airway because of how the man is devouring him without laying hands on him. He is looking at Prompto as if he has never seen someone as beautiful as him before, but also as if he's intimately familiar with the shape of his body; his pupils fly to his jutting hipbones, to his cock framed by his wiry thighs, to his bony knees, to his feet, the flat surface of his stomach, his shoulders and his hardened nipples almost with the fondness Prompto directs at his favorite sweets, the ones he does not get tired of eating despite knowing the taste by heart.

He hates the twisted attention Ardyn is directing at him. It gets worse when his eyes catch Prompto's and he whistles. He fucking whistles. "What a sight" the chancellor of Niflheim comments, enamored by the blond's physique "Not even Altissia can compare to the plains and valleys that compose you, my beautiful Prompto" The compliment rubs him the wrong way, instead of flattered the blond is repulsed.

He sneers but stays put. Ardyn sighs "How I wish I had the willpower enough to resist your naked form, but alas, I suppose I am but a mortal man and as a man I'm a helpless slave to my desires."

Immediately after he finishes speaking, he pushes Prompto to the bed and flips him on his stomach. The blond receives a mouthful of pillows. His bare ass is in the air, at perfect display for the man behind him, ready for the taking. Humiliated, blood floods his cheeks, and his freckles stand out in shame. He can see it because there are mirrors too on the wall at the rear of the bed, and thanks to that he can also see Ardyn climbing on the bed-he has not even taken his cloak off-and gets a high definition image of the man towering over Prompto's vulnerable frame. The older man lowers his head to press a road of kisses throughout his slightly protruding spine, pauses when he reaches the dimples on the small of Prompto's back to suck dark bruises on them. Meanwhile, his hands have taken residence on the spot where his ass merges with his thighs and he pushes them wider.

It hits him then. This is really happening. This is not a nightmare. This is real. He is about to get fucked by the man he hates the most in this world, the one who has ruined everything and this will be his first time as well. This is wrong; his first time has been reserved for someone else ever since his thirteenth birthday.

He buries his face on the pillows and prays to die smothered by them.

His train of thoughts is interrupted the moment he feels a wet something touch his most private area. The one he has touched occasionally while pleasuring himself, thinking it was Noctis who-

The flexible organ circles his opening and Prompto feels his cock stand to attention, his legs threaten to double. He lets out a pornographic moan when what he now knows to be Ardyn's tongue pushes inside the ring of muscle. The wet sounds produced from this chain of actions cause Prompto dizziness. A bead of precum slides from his dick, heat spreads through him but not out of discomfort this time. Ardyn is all business and zero foreplay, eating Prompto with gusto. He suctions at his rim, practically making out with it, worshipping Prompto by tasting his inner walls with his insatiable tongue.

It's a strange sensation, having something other than his fingers up his ass, but is not a bad one however and this makes him feel insanely guilty and disgusting. He is not supposed to enjoy it. It's easier said than done though, taking into consideration that a hand has moved to masturbate Prompto on the front too. Debauched, he's dripping everywhere: saliva on his ass, precum on his length, sweat out of his every pore. The face in the mirror is a stranger, a shameless boy who will take whatever he is given, and he doesn't know how he is meant to be able to see himself later and not reject what he sees after this terrible union.

He wants it so bad for the one behind him to be Noctis. He wants Noctis to be the one sucking his balls. He wants Noctis to be the one peppering his perineum with open mouthed kisses. He wants Noctis to be the one making love to his scrotum.

This is rape, he repeats mentally. Simultaneously, Ardyn takes his face out from the inside of his buttocks, his lips red and hair messed up from the effort he has just made. He swallows, staring at Prompto's obscene face in the mirror, his pouty and bitten mouth, his red rimmed eyes, the delicious coloring of his skin.

This is rape, he repeats mentally. The man looks at him heatedly, his pupils blown out as he pulls his arousal out of his pants. He inserts his fingers inside the young man's mouth, and the gun man makes sure to coat them well. Hollows out his cheeks and watches Ardyn's desire consume him entirely.

This is rape, he repeats mentally. The stretch and burn of fingers is a welcome normality in this fucked up situation and Prompto embraces it, sobs over his forearms-the phalanges forcing his walls to expand, they curve and move this way and that and pry moans, groans and more shameful noises out of him when they find that bundle of nerves that make him curl his toes and witness a sky full of starts behind his eyelids.

He is going to rape me.

Prompto sniffles helplessly in that interval in which Ardyn's fingers exit him and he pushes back desperately, like a cheap whore, hungry for it. Ardyn lets out a pleasured sound and Prompto wishes for him to die, that this fucker gets murdered in the most painful way possible.

" **Mine** " Ardyn burns the words against his shoulder blades, in that space that divides them, thrusting inside the tight heat of the blond's entrance. " ** _My Prompto_** , mine and mine alone. You belonged to me all along, from the start" for the first time he sounds frantic, his eyes have not fallen away from Prompto's sweaty and tense figure under him, as if he is afraid to take his eyes off from his prize out of fear of it slipping from his yearning grasp.

Prompto shakes his head in vain. For it, he is held by the neck and pushed down. "Yes. The brat thought he could have you, take you away from me like he has taken everything else. But does he know that you were meant for me? Meant for me to have? For me to held? Only to be molded by my hand? The proof was right under his nose and never saw it"

The blond drools over the sheets, the pain is excruciating as inch after inch of Ardyn's length fills him to the brim but he dreads to think of the alternative, of what would have happened had the man not decided to prepare him and just took him dry.

Ardyn then closes his hand, the one that is not on his nape, around his wrist in a vice like grip. It's the wrist. That one wrist. The part of his body he loathes with everything he has because it is that one thing that marks him as an outsider. As a monster. And the chancellor leans down once he is balls deep inside the blond and sinks his teeth into the barcode marring his flesh. His sharp canines make that blemish his own, like he has owned the rest of his young body.

Prompto screams bloody murder.

Ardyn unsheathes his dick until the head is the only part not out of the twitching hole. He moves back in, merciless. His sack slaps against Prompto's backside and the sound is deafening. Prompto tries to pull his arm away but he finds he is unable to unless he wants his wrist ripped open, assaulted by the man's hateful mouth and member.

The fifth time the chancellor penetrates Prompto, is when his fangs retreat from the sheep's wool. Rivers of blood stain the white sheets, the white skin where it's contained.

Soon enough, the lewd noises of skin colliding with skin, of pants, of moans, of grunts, and howls are the sole orchestra inside the room. Prompto's cock is over stimulated due to the friction provided by the bed under him. His lust, his need of coming is unrestrainable now that he began enjoying the act, thanks to every precise hit to his prostate. His knees and elbows quiver, he doesn't know for how long he is going to be able to hold out.

Ardyn on top of him does not look any better. He's frazzled, unravels his emotions through fucking the living daylights out of Prompto, his pace increasing along with his thrusts. It is not too long after when, while shoving his dick particularly hard inside the gunner and slipping one hand to wrap around the boy's shaft, Prompto orgasms-a choked whimper escapes him, his world turns an overwhelming shade of white and he shoots his load partly on the bed, partly on his stomach.

At the sight of Prompto's climax, Ardyn can't help but fall victim to his own pleasure. He bites one dot covered shoulder while he saturates the boy's inner walls with his cum.

Prompto, still dazed from his high, feels Ardyn weight surround him. Feels more aware than ever of the merging of their bodies, of the points where they are connected because none of them have moved to separate.

His stomach rumbles, acid juices are pumped at fast speed to his mouth and he passes out. But before he does, the last thing he hears is Ardyn Izunia saying:

 _"I finally made it. I finally have you"_

* * *

It will be months later when Prompto will dare to ask him "Why were you not as cruel as I imagined you'd be? I mean, rape is rape. It was bad, it was hellish, but you could have made it a lot worse"

And he will answer so damn proud of himself, so blinded by his ego "You are perfectly right. I could have made it more painful. I could have made it a terrible experience. One you would not have been able to forget, one just capable of making you tremble and soil your pants at the mention of my name. And I do love your tear stricken face. However, I think it was more productive to get inside your head by making you like it. Hurt is a mighty weapon but conflict, self doubt… those are the monsters that truly kill you, Prompto Argentum."


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N: Writer's block has really hit me hard this time and finishing this was a slow torture. Also, I want to apologize to anyone who has left reviews in any of my FFXV related fics and haven't received a reply. I've been going through some family stuff and I wasn't able to check as often as I used to.  
_**

 _ **Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and the quotes that were used here belong respectively to: Sylvia Plath, Charlotte Brontë and Dante Alighieri. (You'll know when you see them).**_

* * *

 **to fall**

He realizes he's in love on a stormy Monday night. It's his first time too, his first falling in love this hard, this soon, this unexpectedly-well, not exactly unexpected. Looking back it was only a matter of _when_ rather than _if_ , almost as if he had been preordained to fall in love with his best friend from the very first day of high school the happy go lucky boy threw his arm around his shoulders.

But it did take him by surprise.

He's sixteen when he realizes he is in love. He has been friends with Prompto for less than a year but it already feels like they have known each other their entire lives.

They are sitting cross legged in the living room of the new apartment he has begged his father to let him have since thoughts of imprisonment and independency started creeping up on him at the verge of his fourteenth birthday. Outside, the dark sky is weeping black tears that hit strongly against the windows and the alarming sounds cause Prompto to flinch and cower, his back pressed to the couch behind them. He was going to stay over anyway but the weather is less than ideal for a sleepover with videogames till' late morning. Noctis knows this, knows from many random conversations in between classes of the blond's innate fear of storms. And of bugs and heights.

The TV is on; the image on the screen is that of a paused fighting game, some new title Noctis can't remember the name of. PAUSED, it reads on dramatic lettering. Their controllers lay abandoned a few centimeters away from their socked feet.

Drops of water drip occasionally from blond tips, they fall on the dark fabric of the sweatpants that Noctis lent him-those sweatpants that are slightly baggy on Prompto's thinner frame and show more skin than they ever do when Noctis's wears them. He can see the jut of his hipbones and a hint of belly; the rest is obscured by the navy long sleeved shirt-also borrowed-that, just like the sweatpants, hangs off of the other teenager's body. The sleeves have slid down at some point, revealing Prompto's pale freckled shoulders and Noctis finds himself oddly transfixed by them, by the contrast of his clothes and how big they are on his best friend. By everything that is Prompto at the moment, under the toned down illumination of his new home.

His nose and cheeks are slightly red as he turns to Noctis "What a way to ruin a game night, huh?" Noctis ought to agree but he is distracted by Prompto's red bitten lips, the places where the row of frontal teeth have dented the soft flesh there "We should turn it off, you know. Just in case there is a power outage"

"Yeah" he answers weakly and despite the affirmation doesn't move to do what he agreed to do. Just stares at Prompto, experiencing the mild feeling he might not know how to do anything else but memorize the dimensions of his face or the subtle flush that has begun to spread beneath the ivory skin. He has the impulse then to grab Prompto by the collar of the shirt, lower it so he can follow the flush of blood, see how far it goes.

His friend laughs awkwardly and lowers his gaze, suddenly acting shy. Noctis's mind is doing loops unable to figure out what has changed these past months, what has made him so interested in Prompto –in the way he moves, the way he laughs, the way he colors when embarrassed, the way he speaks and what he says.

Lightning strikes particularly close to the window, the white flash blinds them for a second, illuminates the darkness outside like a camera going off.

Prompto stiffens up like a board and scoots over to the left where Noctis is sitting. Their sides melt into each other from knees to elbows and shoulders as Prompto shatters his personal space, buries his face on the prince's neck. It's Noctis turn to freeze up. He gets a mouthful of blond hair and is assaulted by the smell of his own shampoo mixed with the natural odor that is Prompto's alone: bubblegum and vanilla and cinnamon like the sweets he insists on eating frantically, entwined in one perfume delicious enough to make Noctis lose his bearings for a minute, want to consume it all and-

"Is this alright?" the blond whispers, his breath hot and damp on his neck. That red mouth is too close to meeting his chin, or his jaw, or his collarbones if it desired to do so "Is this not weird? I'm just… The storm and…." Prompto drifts off and Noctis lets a minute roll by in silence before he stretches one arm and curls a hand over Prompto's bare shoulder. Fingers dig in possessively. "It's okay, man. I know how scared shitless you get about storms"

His best friend snorts, shakes his head. Noctis can hear his beating heart through their clothes, through the many barriers separating them and combined with the rare proximity between them and the urge to tell him-

"I'll protect you so don't worry"

It happens as he pronounces the words, the moment he realizes how serious he is, how much he truly means them, the warm feeling on his chest and the calming, content feeling he gets as Prompto laughs at him (the soft musical sound reverberating inside his ears). He has never felt this way before. With anyone.

This is it, he thinks on a Monday night, Prompto Argentum curled up against him and his whole being radiating because of their closeness, as if he has finally solved a puzzle he had not known he had been solving until that moment. This is it: the two of them, two best friends hanging around, wasting time, telling bad jokes and playing videogames all night long. _This is his forever_.

For as long as he can remember he has been subtly told of what his forever should be, would be in the end. His father reminded him whenever he could of that blond girl he had befriended once upon a time in Tenebrae. Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, The Oracle. If it weren't for the Empire, King Regis had said one day, he would have loved to have her as his daughter in law. But Noctis whom has met her, has spent time with her, has exchanged letters with her throughout the years knows better than most that is not the outcome the both want. To her, he is that little brother she has to protect at all costs and to him, she is that older sister figure that makes him think of his long passed mother.

As romantic and poetic it might sound to anyone else looking in from the outside, that is not the fairytale ending Noctis has dreamed of. His wish is simpler, something much more mundane than marriages between kings and princesses but to him, in this instant, it means everything. He can't possibly think of anything more special and magic than the lazy smile Prompto is giving him over his shoulder, red staining his cheeks.

He wants this and he wants it forever. Every day of his life, waking up to dotted skin, sunkissed hair spilled on top of pillows and those wide blue eyes looking back at him with that inner flame he has admired from the get go until they both grow wrinkly and tired.

It's not that he falls in love.

No.

He finally recognizes the name of that emotion that plagues him in the blond's presence.

He has been in love from that time in middle school he helped a cute, chubby boy stand up from the ground. He clasped his sweaty hand in his and when their eyes met he had felt something he wasn't mature enough to comprehend yet and had just let it go. Nevertheless, he had known then that he had never seen such a pretty shade of blue, had never felt that manic beating inside his ribcage. Had never stared so much at another kid in his classroom, had never felt so dejected when he saw the other boy turn his back on him after another failed attempt at talking to him, and had never hated himself as much as he did those days because he wasn't brave enough to start that wanted interaction he never seemed to get.

He is a normal sixteen year old boy that has come to terms, at last, with the simple fact that he is in love with his best friend.

* * *

The date is February fourteenth. They are perched on the fence of their high school's rooftop. On the floor surrounding them are what seem to be thousands of heart shaped gift boxes that make the chaos on Noctis's stomach feel worse. Half of them are his and the other half… are Prompto's. The mere thought causes his hands to close into fists immediately, it pisses him off greatly; he thought he had gotten rid of Prompto's pursuers ever since that little epiphany months ago.

Prompto, as always, looks beautiful even in his school uniform and there is nothing Noctis wants to do more than push him to the closest flat surface and mark every part of uncovered skin for the entire world to see who he belongs to. He wants to kiss that mouth that keeps gushing about how surprised he is he actually got anything (how could he not? He is the prettiest being to ever walk on Eos). However he stops himself every time he begins to lose control of his body and invades slightly the other boy's space.

He is too afraid to actually do something about it. About them.

Instead he looks at Prompto from the corner of his eye and wonders about the mild, feverish green tone that mars his face even as he talks animatedly. Wonders at the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the rigid movements of his unnaturally tense jaw.

* * *

As the years go by, Noctis notices the pattern.

Every Valentine's Day Prompto shows up looking like a junkie, his eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, eye bags the size of mountains, cracked lips and mood under the weather. He acts for the remainder of the day completely out of character, jumpy and paranoid, keeping away from their friends and classmates as if they are sick with something contagious. Sometimes, Noctis catches him scratching underneath the wristbands he never takes off particularly hard.

Noctis wants to ask him about it but never dares to. He respects the blond's privacy too much to cross that invisible line Prompto has set; if it were something that important anyway, he assures himself, if it were an emergency, if there was something really wrong he's sure Prompto would tell him about it.

Which he does.

When they're both twenty and almost ready to depart for what they don't know yet to be the road trip of their lives. They very last one they'll ever have.

"Do you remember how I always got weird on Valentine's Day?" Prompto is the one who brings it up from his position on Noctis's bed. His hair is messed up and Noctis's wishes he was the reason it got like that in the first place, because of too much tugging on yellow silky locks. But alas he's just as much of a coward at twenty as he was at sixteen and hasn't still done anything to make his forever a reality. Especially not now with the impending threat of a royal wedding on the horizon.

He freezes where he sits next to the blond boy, his back propped up by pillows "Yeah. What about it? Did something happen?" He fails miserably at hiding the concern in his voice.

Prompto frowns, looks sickly for an instant that goes by too fast "Promise me you won't freak out, okay?"

"I promise"

* * *

Another night in the prince's apartment. Tiny bottles of vodka are strewn out on the floor. Prompto hiccups and looks at his friend's red face, at the hazy eyes that return his stare a little too intensely for someone who's drunk.

They are seventeen and too stupid to know better; Gladio and Ignis were not with them to remind them of their recklessness when they decided to include alcohol in the conversation. Now they gaze into each other's eyes with all the emotions they are too scared to let shine in plain daylight, the wants and the hunger and the everlasting fire of their love.

Prompto doesn't know who started it.

One moment there is nothing. The next thing he knows is that lips can hurt if pushed together too strongly but he doesn't care because his mouth is meeting Noctis's mouth and it's heaven on earth-their mouths, teeth and tongues collide sensuously in a much needed dance they have been waiting for the longest time. There is too much saliva involved (it drips down his chin) and he's pretty sure their noses are not supposed to bump like that but he can't be anymore content. This is Noctis, his best friend and first love and he is all that Prompto has ever dared to hope for in his life. Gorgeous, strong Noctis that kisses him like he can never get enough of Prompto's taste or the push and pull of their tongues or their trembling, impatient hands mapping each other's bodies.

They kiss to the point of exhaustion; their limbs too sore and their eyes too droopy to stop from shutting closed. Hands down it could have been the best moment in Prompto's short lifespan. Except that when morning comes, Noctis doesn't remember a thing of what happened last night and Prompto is too chicken to do a recount of the holy events so he bites his tongue and lies through his teeth. _It was nothing. We just talked._

He misses the look of disappointment on Noctis's visage, too caught up in his own personal angst.

One week later is when Prompto gathers enough courage to tell Ignis about that night because he believes he'll die if he doesn't tell anyone-he can't tell Noctis and Gladio is out of the question. Standing face to face with the advisor on the entrance of The Citadel is the first time he lets the words 'kiss', 'me' and 'Noctis' come out of his mouth. He gets tongue tied many times and can't bear to look at the other man straight in the eyes but he manages. After he's finished retelling his story Ignis just sighs and suggests things between them will work in due time, comforts him like a worried parent would and that simple gesture warms Prompto to his core.

He doesn't know though. He remains ignorant underneath the blinding sunlight, Ignis by his side as they share thoughts in moderate tones.

He'll regret this choice in years to come, when he finally understands what happened that faithful afternoon he took the risk of revealing a secret out loud.

But for the moment he's satisfied with Ignis's support and is filled with determination by the time he gets back home.

It's a shame however when this new found determination goes down the drain at the same time he enters his room and sees a single black rose resting peacefully on the center of his bed, a sealed letter accompanying it.

No!

The blond stops a few feet before his bed and feels that his blood is now nothing more than cold ice. A slight breeze drifts in through the open window, and the overbearing scent of decaying flowers makes him want to retch right there on his bedroom floor. _This must be a mistake. Today is not even…_ In a trance, he picks up the letter with his too weak fingers and struggles to open it, his other hand clasps the ominous dark rose. For a second, he thought that the petals looked like purple bruises on top of his white sheets.

The first time was on the previous night to his sixteenth birthday. He had been about to go to bed when he noticed the strange envelope innocently peering at him from the nightstand. " _To Prompto Argentum"_ it read on flourished writing, a crimson rose attached on the behind. That had not really scared him off although he had felt a shiver run down his spine the more he thought about what was happening. A note? A letter? An admirer? He had admirers?! How did they know where he lived?! So many questions and so little answers. It only got worse when he read the contents of the letter:

 ** _"How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into. "_**

He had blinked and retraced those words that did not make absolute sense at first. He touched the careful, elaborate writing, imagining the strokes of a pen as he went along. That's all there was to the mysterious letter, nothing more and nothing less. Despite the superficial modesty of the… gift, Prompto still felt unsettled and he didn't know why. He spent the entire night researching for the source of the quote and eventually he found it was from a book he had been forced to read at school last year but hadn't even bothered picking up.

It was odd and scary. Something about it felt off and while he couldn't bring himself to throw it out he did hide the rare note/love confession/whatever it was on the top shelf of his closet and left it there to gather dust.

He was paranoid all week long and kept away from anyone else except from Noctis (why couldn't he have been the one to write him a love note, damn it? All he wanted was for Noctis to look at him the way he did, he didn't need anyone else's attention).

The second time occurred on Valentine's Day after he turned sixteen. The MO was the same asides of the sunflower that took the rose's place. And this time, Prompto really did get scared.

 ** _"I have little left in myself - I must have you. The world may laugh - may call me absurd, selfish - but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame."_**

The writing was more aggressive in this note, as if whoever had written it had gotten fed up with just watching and wanting from afar. The 'a's and 'y's and 'o's were particularly marked, the cursive manner of writing further exaggerated as this person copied the passion filled sentences from a different book. He couldn't stand reading it for much longer and put it away somewhere where he could not see it; out of sight, out of mind.

The next day he acted like a zombie, so out of character and tried to ignore his best friend's worried glances.

Sadly, for him, it didn't end there. It kept happening and happening and happening- and now here he is. Here he is, a black flower in one hand and a foreboding letter on the other. It's neither his birthday nor the most romantic day of the year but there it is. Another letter when there shouldn't have been any. Again this unknown person sneaked into his house like the midnight wind and left him another message.

He should have told Noctis, he thinks as he rips the seal. He should have called the police, he thinks as he holds the letter in his shaking hands. He thinks he should have given more importance to the situation in general as he reads the paragraph and feels the bilis threaten to climb up the walls of his throat. He thinks he's being stupid because it's just a stupid piece of paper that has him trembling and shaking in the same way he would at thinking about narrow spaces and great heights. He doesn't understand the primal fear that he finds himself immersed in when he finishes reading, when the parched paper falls to the floor, when he stays wide awake with the lights turned on and glaring at the shadows remaining at the corners where the light cannot reach.

He needs to tell Noctis.

He will tell Noctis.

Someday, when he doesn't feel as pathetic as he feels now.

He sits on the bed, hugs his knees and prays that he shall never meat this-

This stalker.

* * *

 ** _"He woke her then, and trembling and obedient, she ate that burning heart out of his hand. Weeping, I saw him then depart from me. Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her? Find nourishment in the very sight of her? I think so. But would she see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him?"_**


	6. Chapter 6

**to falter**

Sometimes, you hate him.

You loathe his very existence; you detest the very thing-the very being that made you into this shell of whom you used to be, this man that lives in constant awe of this unremarkable boy that does nothing different from the other thousands, no, millions of unremarkable people that populate this wretched world. This man that dreams when he no longer has the need to, this man that has not dreamt in a hundred years and had thought he had lost the ability to do so a long time ago. This man that used to hate everything, cares for very little, is interested in much less but now here he is, trapped in a limbo, trapped in a not quite entranced kind of state merely because some child with a pretty face laughed, and somehow , that changed everything.

He laughed and this pathetic excuse of a man was born. This man that aches for a glimpse of teeth, that continues to search for that curve of the boy's mouth, this man that burns with intensity- was burned in a small coffee shop due to a simple touch, a simple meeting of fingers and palms that led him to see what he had not wanted to see: this innate hunger for the little runaway experiment, for this boy who was nothing more than anyone else, who **is** nothing special. Ironically, he **must** be special in a way. Otherwise, why would this man suddenly yearn for things he has not yearned for in ages, why would he reduce himself to the type of man he swore to never be (a mess of vulgar and basic longings he had thrown away and had not really needed until now), why would he become a slave to his own shameful desires awakened by this skinny teenager who has not grown out of puberty yet?

The thing is… the problem lays in the fact that he is not actually relevant in any form. Prompto Argentum is-asides from a couple of details that might help you in your endeavors- a pretty common individual. He's a source of conflict, this friend of Noctis that should be nothing in the big scheme of actions to come but has gained a new kind of meaning to you that you're not able to explain. It shouldn't matter that you've seen him at his worst, alone in his room, clawing at his wrist and bawling his eyes out because he knows, on a minimal level, that he is not like his peers, will never be like them as long as that barcode stays on his skin. It shouldn't matter you've seen him at his best, by the prince's side, laughing and snapping shots after shots. It shouldn't matter that you've seen the walking contradiction he is, that you've noticed the ways in which his very being defies logic and expectations. His opposing nature: a blend of positive and negative, his low self esteem versus his obnoxious need to play everyone's clown in order to make them happy, his forgetfulness versus his attentiveness, his happy demeanor versus his darker side that shies from the light (afraid of not deserving it), the skeletons in his closet versus his transparency, his dedication versus his overwhelming sense of uselessness… The fire of his soul that resists what fate may throw his way, holds on despite the world doing everything it can do to blow out his inner flame, unraveled something deep inside of you that is both ancient and new.

Precisely, it was this yearning for his soul that shook you to the seams of your rotten being (that frightened you) because Gods, everything would have been less complicated if only what you had felt for the boy was a craving for just the canvass and not what laid behind it, under it, the whispers hiding tucked in his curves and edges.

At first, you pretended you hadn't known what he meant, what those feelings meant for you. At first you pretended it all began on that nameless coffee shop where your darkness had risen faced with the bait of his youthful embarrassment, his naïve innocence. At first, you pretended not to know your downfall had truly begun with one boy and the sound of his laughter.

A lazy Monday afternoon, the Prince of the prophecies sitting next to the focus of your attention who, in a moment, in the blink of an eye, threw his head back, tilted his neck in such a way the blazing star in the cloudless sky hit his silhouette just _right,_ just enough to accentuate the gleam of his golden hair and the shine of his pearl white teeth and his blood floored cheeks and his sparkling, squinted eyes. And in a moment, in the blink of an eye, your universe shattered. Tiny little pieces of yourself laid there in front of you, at your feet on the pavement because he laughed and you thought it was beautiful. The most beautiful thing to ever exist, you thought, as the deformities near his laughing lips (those hollowed zones of skin, the depressions where you had the itch to press kisses to) made an opportune appearance and it was a combination of that and the painful squeeze of something inside your chest that provoked a reaction so unexpected within you, caused you to want to drop to your knees (you never knelt before anyone, not even the Gods) and make some space for yourself in between the opening of his legs and-

And.

 _You Were Reborn._

That afternoon, for a few hours, in an almost empty street, alone with both feet planted on the sidewalk, stood a man who was not Ardyn Izunia. A stranger. Someone you had been once upon a time when you still had faith, when you had looked at the expansion of Lucis around you with a feeling akin to fondness. When things like hatred, revenge and disdain for humanity had no place in your vocabulary.

The worst is that this stranger felt himself falter not at the sight of milky skin or obscene displays, but at a simple smile, a simple laugh that was enough to destroy him and bewitch him on the spot.

Thus, bewitched he stood and bewitched he inhaled with only sight the boy and his laugh and captured him in a moment of pure bliss.

Thus, bewitched and bitter, his following reaction was to curse the unexpected show of beauty and to loathe fervently the cause for this division of the self.

He grinned and pushed a stray lock of hair out of his face. You watched him give the Lucian heir a shy look-still smiling, always smiling-from beneath his long golden lashes.

Thus, you ached and hated him in equal measure for this, whatever this was supposed to be, was never meant to be.

* * *

The day you followed him home, watched him undress-thirsty eyed and thirsty minded-and kissed the mark that bound him to you inevitably, was a day you felt no hatred for him. Was a day where you woke up with the need to absorb him and pull him inside your ribcage, cover him and protect him in that cavity in which that graceless organ that caused more trouble than what it was worth throbbed carelessly and free of reason. Caress his cheeks and pale skin with the ends of your pointed bones.

This was not always the case; this was not always the rule. These tender occasions, these tender musings weren't to last either given that more often were the days you wanted to strangle him,-how easy he would break, how easy he would tear beneath your hands; he was so thin, so lithe compared to you, it would be child's play to wrap long, angry phalanges around his pharynx and squeeze oh so slowly and watch the fight, the fire, the flame fade from the blue orbs that haunted you even in dreams-push that ridiculous pretty face to the closest surface and smash it against it just to see the delicious red flow and mar the previous pure whiteness. See the proof of your own strength; see that you were stronger than temptation, that you were not some mindless tool that yielded to weakness-because that is what he was, a weakness, and a distraction you could not afford to lose yourself in. Not now when you were finally so close to your goal.

The boy was expendable, you knew, and you were smarter, untouchable, uninterested in such common longings. There was no time to waste on freckles and teary eyes.

Therefore, one day, you decided to put an end to him.

* * *

Ignis Scientia. Formal attire from head to toes, sun glinting on the surface of his expensive glasses. Prompto Argentum, your confusion and the bane of your existence, standing next to him, fidgeting under the unwavering sunlight, blushing and stuttering his way through a recollection of events that worsened the sudden headache by your temple, made you think of oily liquid sliding down your face, blue and green veins changing to ebony, and the empty sensation that was rejection and betrayal put together in one package as the world you knew turned its back on you.

 _I kissed him_ , Prompto said, _I kissed him and he kissed me back_. Images of creatures that hid in abandoned corners assaulted you. His shining 0face torn apart like a painting, so easily destroyed using just your hands.

 _yI loved it_ , Prompto said, _I loved every second of it, his hands on me and my hands on him_. Images of those pretty hands, those long delicate boned hands crushed to bits. To unfixable bits. His perfectly trimmed nails cracked and bleeding showing the raw flesh protected by them, the bones of his knuckles breaking through the skin, bones and more bones jagged and pointing and smashed to pieces, his skin ripped to shreds and covered in endless amount of blood. Yes, those hands that for now have not allowed you to touch them, yet have let other's filthy touch to taint them, shall not look beautiful again. For anyone if it can't be you the one to adore them.

 _Our tongues met, Ignis! Astrals, I never imagined-_ Picturing his lovely tongue pierced by a knife and hung like a trophy by your bedside gave you shivers. The want, the ownership and the disgust all encountered themselves in you.

 _I think I might love him._

 _I think I might have loved him my entire life._

A red line crossing his neck from one side of the jaw to the other. Rivulets of liquid spilling down his unresponsive body, meeting halfway with the river of red originated from the wide gap on his abdomen; flaps of skin pulled back to reveal the purple inners, the no longer functioning lungs, intestines and other organs composing a mesh of useless parts. You would daringly let your hands disappear among the mounds of flesh and feel the moist texture of the mechanisms that constructed the boy that had breathed and charmed you with his every breath.

 _His Highness's feelings might not be as opposed to you as you might think, Prompto,_ said the future advisor, certain as the passage of time. The shadows festering in your marrow, the daemons and dangerous things residing in all of you cells, clamored and protested and twisted, unsatisfied, at the confident claim the man made. And it was then you knew you were acting nonsensical, stupidly, like a blind man trying to cross a bridge with no ledges.

Prompto smiled, rubbed the back of his neck in both embarrassment and self pity.

You knew then you had to kill him.

* * *

 **Your heart, my dear, I will remove it gently from your chest. Carefully, I will hold it, the way I would have held you had you given me the chance. Had you given me the time to prove you how mistaken you are in choosing him. Your heart, yes, your lying, cheating, weak, fragile heart will I grab and care for with these haunted fingers that have desired for nothing but to touch that uplifting of lips that has enchanted them since day one.**

 **And when I have it in my grasp, this organ responsible for pumping life to every sacred inch of your sinuous body: I will sink my canines into your soft tissue, the tissue of your heart, and I'll consume you so you shall never not recognize the pain you caused me. I will eat your heart and make you relive in soul and flesh the burn of this love I'm condemned to carve on that place I was not meant to mark.**

 **You heart, then, my life, my divine temptation, will rest in my belly and fuse with everything that is me, and you'll no longer have an excuse to reject the one that longs for you the most.**

* * *

The day you decided to put an end to his life was the worst day you could have possibly chosen to get the deed done.

Never in a million years had you imagined you would encounter a sight alike the one that slapped you literally and metaphorically in the face the minute you walked in-unannounced and undetected.

Again, you were blindsided. Again, you were taken by surprise and the most ironical fact of it all is that it shouldn't have surprised you in the slightest. As you had insisted too many times on a regular basis, Prompto was normal and simple. Your everyday teenager that did the usual teenage stuff. You knew the nature of these actions since you had even smelt and felt the essence of them, _his_ particular essence clinging to every corner of the room during those times you had first traced his steps back home: the smell of arousal and hurried relief often tied to the awkward phase of adolescence.

You knew this.

It shouldn't have knocked out the breath out of your chest the way it did when you set foot inside the room and got an eyeful of bare youth. Of everything Prompto. Vulnerability and sultriness had never been as quite entwined with each other as they did the instant you posed determined eyes on the familiar shape of his body. To see him sprawled on the bed, his pajama pants bundled at his ankles, his right hand inside his cotton briefs-that had hung by a thread around his hips, showing supple flesh and blonde pubes- running up and down his flushed length and his other hand pushing his worn t-shirt up a slim torso as it went, revealing uncharted lands of milky white you had burned in memory, stopped when tips of fingers approached the area close to that rosy bud you had almost dared to swallow one night (driven mad by desire and anger); it was mesmerizing. It was sickening and it was a torturous betrayal, the throbbing below your navel as you drank in the sweat pooling in the boy's own navel, as you saw the tremors shaking his boyish frame from the hasty onslaught of his nipples and hardening arousal.

You felt your entire life overflow and bleed right there on the floor of his bedroom when you unexpectedly caught his delirious face, in the throes of passion and illusion, his red lips and red cheeks and unfocused orbs and hair in a wild disarray fanned on the pillow cushioning his head and you thought yourself crazy, thought yourself insane mad and rabid because once more, submerged in human weakness, you wanted to close the wretched distance separating you from his panting mouth and drink in his muffled moans, consume his short gasps, get on your knees and devour the heat accumulating in between his thighs.

 _Eat him fully and candidly, his pleased sounds as a testament of who was doing him in. Of who was making him_ _ **feel like a man**_ _._

Knees trembled and throat dried just like the outskirts of Insomnia. Prompto turned his face to the left, angled it unknowingly in your direction and your hands itched for closure, needing to trace the sinfully beautiful features cast in the yellow light of poor illumination. The hand molesting his nipples slid down to help her partner in crime to slip past his lanky legs his underwear and pants; these then were thrown aside but you paid them no mind. How could you focus on anything else beyond the tantalizing opening of legs uncovering his most private areas, the twitching pink hole that was just begging to be filled by you and only you? Iron will was what kept you grounded where you stood and away from the treasure you wished to claim more than the throne itself. Firm you remained even as Prompto suctioned on his index, middle and ring finger-his mouth a pretty picture closing around them, you could almost imagine it was your cock that he sucked fervently-and when the fifteen year old deemed them wet enough, he shoved them unmercifully hard inside his hungry cavity, letting out a beautiful sob accompanied by his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

And that was it. You were gone. You were everywhere and nowhere, lost in the maze of his pleasure mixed with your own, wrapped around his calves, stuck on the smooth soles of his feet, hidden in the gaps between his toes, enfolded by every inch that composes the boy in the coffee shop, the Niflheim reject, the class joker, the boy behind the camera and the Prince's best friend. **_Prompto Argentum._**

His name, a prayer on the tip of your tongue that needed to be released. His lewd presence the religion and you, the faithful devotee, moved to the verge of tears at the peak of Nirvana, possessed by something greater than the sum of its parts. **_Be mine, let me in, and swallow me in the depths of your forbidden beauty-_** there was a sea of poetry you were dying to tell him, a sea of poetry yearning to be tattooed on any path of visible skin. Desire became you, and you became desire and the loathing from within swelled in agitation disguised as indignation.

This was insanity. Pure, unadulterated insanity.

There was zero logic, no reason to justify your actions, your thoughts, the desperate manner in which your human body longed to answer the call made by the tempting silhouette on the mattress emitting the _sweetest sounds_ you had ever had the pleasure of listening. _The sweetest_.

Was this how one lost their mind and rationality? Because of a smile (those smiling lips swollen and open in forms and shapes), because of his glazed eyes, because of his freckled skin where the blood concentrating beneath its fine layer turned it from ivory into carmine pink, because of his normally cheerful voice pitched lower due to stimulation?

Or was it because of how you betrayed yourself in letting cheap thrills take control over you? Because you allowed your impenetrable walls to crumble, and subsequently let yourself feel a stab of jealousy, possessiveness, hatred (so much hatred), pain and a myriad of other emotions when Prompto came at last-three fingers up his round ass and hand squeezing the head of his wet cock-but not with your name falling sensuously off his mouth, no, not yours but _his_. The thief, the undeserving royalty, the spoiled brat, the nondescript, boring, stupid, clueless plain Noctis; that was the name the holy creature climaxed with, shaking and reddened thighs, white streaks decorating the hint of a six pack.

* * *

It didn't take long for the teenager to fall asleep after his orgasm, he didn't even care to pick up his discarded clothes or wipe the mess he made on himself. Covers thrown off, exposed and unassuming underneath the eerie gleam of the moonlight, he let his eyes close. Naked, free to touch if you gathered your courage and permitted yourself to extend a palm and start on a journey through that virgin, unconquered land that was the unexplainable object of your desires.

Instead, shame burning like a blaze, you walked towards the unsuspecting boy. _Hatred, hatred, hatred_ was a mantra repeating itself over and over. How dare this meaningless-this mere pawn reduce you to the level of common folk? How dare he force you to be a slave of carnal needs? And how could you, with no logical reason, with nothing to back this mindless desire, fall in awe of such an unordinary human?

 **Damn him!**

Thousands of years you have walked on Eos, you've seen thousands of years of human evolution, experienced them to the brink-and every action, every decisive moment has led you here, to this forsaken instant, this frozen moment in time where you find yourself at a loss for words, a loss for witty comments, a loss of rational thought. Feeling much more painfully human than what you had been during that first lifetime before your fall from grace. In a simplified version: a man standing in the room of the boy he likes, the boy he feels raw affection for, the boy that makes his palms sweat, his face flush, his heart soul and his soul ignite. The boy capable of unraveling all of his layers, to the very bottom of his wretched self.

And it's this knowledge, this sudden realization of how truly human you still are, how a mere child wields such immense power over you, that is what causes your blood to boil.

 _Kill him,_ the voices whisper in the quiet air, close to your ear while you tower above the unconscious Prompto and you think with disgust of that occasion you had felt so much adoration and plain need for _this thing_ that you had grabbed his dainty wrist, the marked one your wrist and tasted the beat of his pulse with hungry lips, wanting to stake a claim on him. On everything he owned and everything he had, and everything he knew and everything he was.

 _Mine,_ you had promised _, Soon you will be mine._

Now there you were again, with a different kind of mindset (your body in the purgatory of desire, blood situated downwards, heat gathered everywhere, a familiar tightening of your pants and your brain irate at the prospect of regressing to the primal origins of humanity as a species).

 _Kill him. End him. Erase him._ You remembered all those times you had wanted to destroy him rather than love him. You remembered the instances where you had imagined his bloody demise at your own hands. You remembered feverish dreams of his severed head mounted on your wall and his body, the core of endless disasters, set on your dining table as a main course you planned to enjoy thoroughly, from his toes to his lonely neck without a head to support. You remembered and could almost savor the salty tang of blood, the particular scent that belonged to Prompto alone, the flavor of crude meat. You would consume him raw, nothing to undermine or overpower the aroma that could only be his.

With this memories present, intimately eloping with the murderous voices, you raised your hand, ready to strike, and felt the tendrils of darkness expand around you.

As if he was somehow able to sense the new dangerous atmosphere, the blond shivered and turned in his sleep; so now the moonlight hit him straight on his features clouded by sleep.

The hand ceased motion.

You faltered.

You swallowed.

It was like a bomb. Like a grenade exploding inside a closed room. His golden hair framed his narrow face like a halo, making more pronounced his angelic characteristics. The arc of his high cheekbones possessed a rosy hue to them. The small trail of brown dots, on top of his perfect nose, that stretched towards his cheeks. His closed eyelids-you were aware that under them laid the most expressive eyes you had ever encountered, an open book, his emotions, everything he felt displayed clearly in the blue reflective glass of his irises. The slightly uneven cupid bow of his upper lip, the almost imperceptible curvature of it indicating the clue of a smile. Against your will and better judgment, this made you want to chuckle-of course Prompto would be the kind of person that smiled even in dreams.

You drew the boy's visage with your eyes and before them the pictures of what you had seen of Prompto's life right until this moment played like a movie. His laments, his cries, his tears, his smiles, his laugh (that laugh, the very first one, the one that counted, the one that changed everything, that made you different), his joy, his happiness, his sadness, his depression, his love, his friendship, his affection, his trust and his guilt. You saw it all. The expression he wore the day he scored a twenty in a test at school after so long, his crestfallen face when he was rejected in a photo studio, his passion evident wherever you looked if he so much saw a camera, his grimace the day he fell of a tree trying to rescue a cat and dislocated his ankle as a result, his crying face as he tried to destroy the proof of his origins with his nails, his full body blush that showed up only when Noctis merely looked his way or when he did his best to engage pretty girls, his anxiety, his nervousness, his divine face as he stuffed himself with food, his unguarded and laidback attitude when he spent time with his friends….

His laugh, his beautiful laugh. The most precious thing in the world, his row of perfect teeth and his innocent face that day. And the thought of losing that forever, losing permanently each and every emotion you had ever observed transpiring on that face that drove you to the edge of madness and simultaneously you couldn't help but-

You faltered.

And that was enough.

* * *

 **A/N: LONG TIME NO SEE FRIENDS (pls don't kill me).**


End file.
